<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Bang-up Break in by Closeted_Bookworm</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25135522">A Bang-up Break in</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closeted_Bookworm/pseuds/Closeted_Bookworm'>Closeted_Bookworm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gadgetry, Mark Fischbach Egos, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Revenge, Secret Mission, Self-alteration</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:55:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25135522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closeted_Bookworm/pseuds/Closeted_Bookworm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Jims are expert pranksters, but this time Bing has a master plan to beat them at their own game. The only problem is he needs a very specific gadget from most secure place in the house: the Googles' lab.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Bang-up Break in</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bing slowly crept up the stairs, secure in the knowledge that none of the Googles were currently in the house. He needed something from their workshop, and there was no way would they give him permission if they knew what he needed it for. Or deem him worthy to talk to at all, really. Which led him to his current covert mission. He was sure The Host already knew what he was doing, since he knew just about everything that went on in the house, but he’d never ratted him out to the other androids before. He might tell Dark, but this particular prank shouldn’t give the demon any trouble, so he’d probably keep out of it. In fact, he might even support it. The quiet would be a welcome reprieve.</p><p>He grinned in anticipation. His current goal was to trap the Jims. They were a difficult target to be sure, but he needed to get revenge for filling his coolant tank with Wilford’s bubble bath the previous week while he was charging. He still smelled vaguely like the pungent bubblegum-scented soap. </p><p>The Googles had recently perfected a sound-cancelling device that could render any sound made within its range inaudible even to the speaker, and Bing needed to “borrow” this machine for his plan. There was nothing the Jims hated more than being shut up. They seemed to feel an unavoidable compulsion to make noise at all times, and as far as they were concerned, a silent Jim was a dead Jim. </p><p>If he managed to trap at least two of the little gremlins, he would consider his venture a success. There were at least a dozen roaming the Manor grounds, usually going in pairs. He had no idea which ones had pranked him, so he had to settle for general revenge on Jimkind. If he had to hazard a guess, though, it was probably Reporter Jim and Cameraman Jim, or RJ and CJ for short. They were the most active of the group, and though none of them were really malicious, they were by far the most mischievous. They also happened to be the most difficult ones to trap, but Bing was nothing if not persistent. He’d get them one of these days. </p><p>He padded along the hallway as quietly as a three-hundred pound metal robot could manage, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards he’d made note of over months walking these hallways. No sense in alerting other egos to his presence; they might give him away. He made it to the workshop entrance without trouble, but now was the difficult part: he had to fool the Google’s security. The passcode was no problem, he’d gotten it from a thermal scan of the keypad after Google Green had gotten careless and forgotten to adjust his temperature before entering it. The retinal scan also presented no issues, since he’d had a 3D model of Google Red’s eye on file ever since his Christmas prank last year (don’t ask). He could cobble together enough voice files recorded from the robots to trick the system’s vocal recognition system. The only thing he was really worried about were the pressure sensors on the floor. They were designed to trigger an alarm if they sensed a weight not matching the Google’s exact parameters. </p><p>Bing was more than twice as heavy as any of the Google androids, since they were made of a much lighter alloy. While this gave him an advantage if he ever decided he had a death wish and got into a wrestling match with one of them, it also meant he was far too heavy to enter the workshop without his weight being programmed into the system first. He probably could have bribed Google Yellow into doing it, or hacked in himself, but that would set him back hours or even days. He’d wanted an excuse to flash his own inventing chops anyways. </p><p>The way he’d decided to get around the system was by distributing his weight over a much larger area, so it would seem to the computer like two smaller Googles were entering the lab instead of one large Bing. He’d built extenders into his limbs with multiple feet apiece to spread the weight around, and they’d fooled the sensors in his own lab just fine after a little fine tuning. He’d had to temporarily remove some of his outer casing to get the weight right, meaning that right now he looked like a broken, demented spider-creature reminiscent of an animatronic from Five Nights at Freddy’s, but it couldn’t be helped. Bing firmly believed that aesthetic sacrifices must be made for the advancement of greatness, something that the Googles seemed to know nothing about. Everything in their workspace was designed to be pretty (they preferred the term “futuristic”). Bing, in comparison, didn’t have a single pair of tools in his lab that matched. The other androids’ quality of work was impeccable, however, so Bing would gladly swallow his gripes about the look of their workshop when he needed one of their inventions. </p><p>Just as he’d expected, the computer fell for every one of his fakes. He’d even made sure to dial in the code at the same speed Red would just in case they were monitoring that as well. The pneumatic door slid open with a soft hiss, and he spider-crawled into the silent lab, fluorescent lights flickering on as he passed. Once he passed the last of the pressure plates, he stood back upright, arms and legs contracting to fit fairly neatly back into his normal frame. He performed a thermal scan of the workshop as he worked his left elbow into place (it tended to get stuck) to make sure that he was really alone. Of course, if a Google extension with the ability to adjust his temperature was lying in wait for him, he wouldn’t show up on the thermal scan, but it never hurt to check for anyone else. He picked up faint heat signatures from the other egos as they moved about above and below him, but the only living thing in the lab besides him was a small spider scuttling around on the side of the 3D printer. He shuddered and gave the machine a wide berth as he passed. He loathed arachnids with a passion. </p><p>He found the device he was looking for in a cabinet on the back wall, protected by a layer of bullet-proof glass and another keypad, which he hadn’t expected. He resisted the urge to curse, the last thing he needed was a loud and obnoxious censor beep alerting someone to his presence in the lab. </p><p>He scanned the keypad with various filters, but there were no helpful traces to allow him to determine the access code. Looks like he was going to have to do this the old fashioned way. He carefully peeled back the casing from the index finger on his right hand, revealing the multi-tool he had in place of phalanges. He crouched down under the keypad, searching for a panel to unscrew. Unfortunately, it was on the left side of the little box, pressed against the wall, which meant his right-handedness would make it harder to get to. He held back another expletive as he wondered yet again why the Googles were ambidextrous and he was not. He did his best at the awkward angle, slowly working the screws out of their casing and popping the panel out. He switched his tool to a tiny rubber clamp that wouldn’t electrocute him if something went wrong, then went to work on the panel. In only a minute or two of messing with the finicky circuits, the case popped open with a satisfying thunk. He took the silencer from the case, stowing it in the compartment in his abdomen and locking it tightly. He shut the sliding glass door and meticulously repaired the inner workings of the lock, making sure there was no trace of the tampering. </p><p>Now to get back out of the workshop. He was heavier with the silencer stowed away on his person, so he needed one last thing to get away unscathed. He dug around in the unlocked closets until he found what he was looking for: a helium tank. He had assumed the Googles would have one on hand, thankfully his hunch was correct. It was likely no one would notice if some went missing. If they did discover its absence, they would hopefully assume the tank was faulty and had a leak. </p><p>He carefully transferred breath control to a single lung, speeding up his inhales to compensate, then opened up his chest cavity and detached the hose connected to the currently empty lung, fastening the end to the nozzle on the helium tank. He filled his airtight lung with as much helium as it would take to balance out the weight of the machine in his belly, grimacing as the compressed gas applied more pressure than was comfortable for him. Why his creators had decided to put nerves throughout his innards was beyond him. It was helpful for identifying when and where repairs were needed, but it made personal growth and innovation a heck of a lot more painful. He re-attached his chest casing and replaced the helium tank where he’d found it, doing his best to ignore the pain. He should really find a way to detach specific nerve endings. </p><p>He dropped into a low crouch and extended his limbs, creeping back out of the lab and sighing with relief as the door shut behind him. He made doubly sure he was off of the pressure plates, then stood up, wincing as his right knee grated painfully while retracting. His left arm was stuck again, but he’d fix it in a minute. </p><p>He opened his mouth wide and opened the valve on his restricted lung, and the helium whooshed out with impressive force. He massaged his chest as his breathing returned to normal, wishing that his sensors weren’t dependent on oxygen to function. Sure, he was built to function similarly to a human body, but his dependence on air was a real hindrance. If he ever wanted to fix it, though, he’d have to overhaul every system in his body and enlist the help of either the Googles or a team of the best engineers in the country, neither of which was going to happen anytime in the near future. The Googles had no pity for the robot they believed was inferior in every way, and their own nearly unlimited nuclear power source only strengthened this mindset. He grinned, patting his stomach. Well, he’d shown them. Of course, he’d never be able to gloat like he longed to, but for once he’d beaten them on their own turf. He’d even made sure to hack into their security cameras earlier that day and set them to broadcast a loop during the time he’d be in the lab. </p><p>He tried to skip down the hall to his own workshop, only to be brought up short by a popping noise from his faulty knee joint. He groaned and leaned against the wall, trying to jiggle the tibia back into its socket, but it wouldn’t reconnect. He heaved an exasperated sigh. He’d have to fix it back in the shop. He tried to extend his arm into a crutch, only to be abruptly reminded that his left elbow joint was out of commission as well. He growled and extended his right arm, limping irritably back to his lab to get himself back into working order. At least the first step in his plan had been a success, he had the silencer.</p><p>Now all he had to do was build something that could withstand the full force of a pair of angry Jims and trap them in it before the Googles noticed it was gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was originally planning to write a second chapter to this, but my motivation to write it has decided to leave me faster than reasonable temperatures in July, so for now I'm converting it to a one-shot. </p><p>Comments are always appreciated. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>